


620

by canadino



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:12:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadino/pseuds/canadino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lower end of the visible wavelength of visible red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	620

Akashi Seijuro worked at the coffee house off the main street because when he was fifteen, his father brought him into one such place dressed in a crisp suit and pressed shirt and proclaimed with no lack of boom to his voice that only individuals who were lazy and unmotivated worked service jobs. Akashi thought it was ironic, then, that his father handed the cashier his hard-earned money. Afterwards, when his father was adding one cream to his coffee, Akashi apologized quietly to the cashier. Returning to the present, he quit his father’s multi-billion business empire and joined a small, hole-in-the-wall company with employees with colorful tattoos on their arms and multiple silver piercings because he was tired of hearing his father’s boasting about him, as if Akashi’s efforts and abilities were some extensions of himself and his ego. He was long suffering and even though he wasn’t being pampered and treated well all the time, he was happy. His connections brought nice, high quality beans from various countries into the backroom, so any social shortcoming he might have was supported by another benefit. He was still a little scared of getting inked, so he hadn’t gotten the black outline of a shogi piece on his back like he’d imagined (but soon, he thought). 

He’d learned a lot of things too, like what kind of personal style matched the aesthetic of the brick walls and chalk writing and lighting and how to work the various machines and coffee bean grinder and how to pour simple designs with steamed milk. Akashi planned the finances and sales, relieving the previous employee who had to do those duties, and learned how to reorganize a fairly disorganized and surprisingly complex system. He learned about the different types of beans and how the flavor profile changed based on mixtures and the different ways to brew them. These things gave him more facets and nuance to him than his business school degree and negotiation skills. It wasn’t lost on him that he had the leisure to enjoy these things at his pace, because although his father was very disappointed and upset with him, he was still being supported by his father’s money as savings from his previous years of working in corporate. These seemingly basic things felt more meaningful to him. 

But there was something else that made his career change just as sweet. “A ristretto and one of the cranberry scones,” Midorima Shintarou said, squeezing the space between his eyebrows. “The usual, please.”

“Late night?” Akashi asked, tapping in the order on the iPad screen. Midorima was such a reliable regular, he wondered if it would be appropriate to create a separate button for his order. He had been coming even before Akashi had started as a barista and had made his first day memorable for scowling with deep bags under his eyes when Akashi had asked what he had meant when he said ‘the usual’. Midorima had apologized two days later, begging forgiveness for his impatience with a high stakes project finally completed. He was a businessman and a salaryman and looked very surprised when Akashi revealed his own background, even though Akashi knew customers sometimes felt off-put by his often formal speech and awkward mannerisms. Midorima wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he had strong features and did not collapse under pressure. Akashi had Midorima’s business card - salaryman habits died hard - and had his number entered in his phone but still hesitated on actually reaching out himself. He carefully used the tongs to slide the cranberry scone into the paper bag, making care not to break the surface of the scone by gripping it too hard.   


“A bit,” Midorima said, digging through a compartment in his wallet for change. “That, and caffeine helps calm my nerves a bit.”  


“What are you nervous about?” Akashi asked. He felt Mibuchi’s eyes on his back from the espresso machine; Akashi was polite but tended not to pry if the customer did not mention things first. Mibuchi picked the music and spoke softly to people who came in looking frazzled from deadlines or upset about bad dates so he was very sensitive to things like that.   


Midorima did not answer for a while, settling for paying for his order and taking the scone when Akashi handed it to him. It was only when Mibuchi slid his coffee across the counter and walked away, leaving Akashi alone at the front, when Midorima said, “I’d like to see you, away from this coffee shop and alone, if that’s alright with you.” 

Akashi Masaomi scolded his son years ago when he cried after coming in second place in a national calligraphy contest, more upset that his son was shedding tears openly in the event hall, and rapped his son’s knuckles with his chopsticks after he’d reached out for another macaron at a house party. Midorima’s proposition made Akashi’s stomach twice as light and his hands go cold, but Akashi’s voice was calm and steady when he said, “That’s alright with me.”

Midorima cleared his throat. “Then I’ll take you out on Friday night. Please give me your number.” 

“Seijuro,” Mibuchi said, ten minutes later when Akashi was wiping the condensation from the dishwasher off the cream colored ceramic cups and lining them up next to the milk steamer. “You...do know that that man was asking you on a date, right?”  


“I know,” Akashi said, and having someone say it as it was made his stomach flip again. He placed the cup down on the counter before he dropped it.   


“Just making sure. You were so composed about it, I thought perhaps you’d thought he was just being friendly. He always has his eyes on you when you’re not looking, you know.”   


He did not know that and now the flipping feeling was migrating into his chest. “Does he?”

Mibuchi looked at him for a long moment, because he could and there was no one waiting on an order. “Oh my...were you already interested in him before today? How haven’t I noticed!” 

“It’s nothing unusual. I don’t really show what I’m feeling on my face, even if I want to. He probably thinks I’m just being polite as well.” He straightened the neat pile of saucers. Mibuchi was still watching him. “My father really groomed me well. I’m used to treating everyone very professionally, so it feels strange and it’s hard for me to really portray my personal feelings toward someone. I suspect Hayama thinks I still dislike him for making jokes about me being unable to lift the shipments of beans, but I admire his optimistic attitude and wish we could chat without him making excuses to leave me alone.”  


“I’ll have a talk with Hayama. I don’t think you’re difficult to read!” Mibuchi took a moment to take a girl’s order and blend an iced coffee for her, so Akashi thought their conversation on something a bit embarrassing was over, but afterwards, Mibuchi restocked the milk and cream and said, “I suppose it took me a bit to figure out you were trying to get to know me, but it isn’t like one has to be a psychic to figure you out. Are you worried that man isn’t going to pick up on your signals?”  


Masaomi always said that staring something frightening in the eyes always reduced its intimidation factor. Akashi could feel his ears burning but he looked Mibuchi right in the eyes as he spoke. “I’m a bit worried about sending signals in general. They could be misconstrued. I feel as if this is like kissing someone with my eyes open. Isn’t that impersonal?”

“It’s more likely to get you cross-eyed if anything,” Mibuchi offered. “But I don’t think you should force yourself to be coy and flirtatious if you don’t feel like it.”   


“Are we gossiping?” Hayama announced, coming out from the back with a big bag of dark roast. Nebuya had probably just come in with the new shipment. “Sis! Who are you flirting with?” Mibuchi had since stopped trying to correct Hayama’s strange nickname. Hayama called Akashi by name, but Akashi also knew that he referred to him as the Master when he wasn’t around. It troubled him but he didn’t know how to bring it up without sounding confrontational. 

“It isn’t Mibuchi flirting with anyone,” Akashi said. “It’s me.” Hayama was very blunt and straightforward, so Akashi figured he would like the honesty. Mibuchi and Nebuya said what they thought right to Hayama’s face and it didn’t seem to be a problem. He felt very open-ended; Hayama might then ask the circumstances or show surprise and they could take it from there.  


“Oh,” Hayama said. He filled up the stock in the front and returned to the back to help Nebuya unload.   


“Don’t worry about it,” Mibuchi said. “He’s stupid, so he probably didn’t know he was supposed to ask you about it. That man looked like he could carry on a conversation.” Akashi did not doubt it; Midorima was not awful at small talk, although the time for conversation when he was manning the counter was not extensive enough to allow for lulls or unfortunate choices of words. Still, business talk - which was mostly the topic in passing - did not seem very romantic. Akashi spent the rest of his day thinking of very casual things to say.  


[=]

Akashi promptly forgot every planned topic of conversation when Midorima put a hand on his back as they were walking to the doors of the restaurant bar they were getting drinks and dinner at. 

It wasn’t a particularly long gesture, so fleeting it was almost like Midorima was guiding Akashi out of the way of a sprinting child or an overly affectionate dog, but it was long enough to show his intention and the fact that he felt too self conscious to keep his hand there for any longer. It was a busy night and Midorima had not made reservations for a table (the panic that flitted across his face that Akashi noticed was endearing, like he had thought of every other possible scenario and had forgotten about this) so they sat at the bar, which reduced the observational quality of sitting across from each other, but Akashi was very conscious that their shoulders were close and if he gestured too freely they would touch. He gestured freely anyway. He also drank the drink Midorima ordered for him very quickly and promptly ordered another when he finished as Midorima was only halfway through with his first. 

“Are you having a good time?” Akashi asked in the middle of dinner, feeling lightheaded and having attempted to remember everything he had put together as the primer for conversation. The place had started to fill up so the ones sitting at the bar had been squeezed together to make more room. It had also gotten louder around them, so he had angled himself toward Midorima to hear him. Their knees were against each other, although Midorima had pulled away initially out of modesty and had only tentatively tested the waters by returning it back. Akashi was on his second glass of wine. 

“You don’t need to ask me that,” Midorima said, wiping his mouth. “Though this was not necessarily what I had meant when I said I wanted to be alone with you, I’m having a great time.” He coughed. “I didn’t mean that in an inappropriate way. I thought we could just speak a little more privately, is what I mean.”

Akashi drank half of his glass without really tasting it. 

He did not feel particularly uneasy or unsteady when they finally left, but when he stumbled for the third time, Midorima reached out to grasp Akashi’s arm to stabilize him. It was late enough at the end of the week that there weren’t that many people left in the financial district; they were a few blocks from the main downtown area where more of the weekend activity was situated, so Akashi did not feel watched or hesitant in any way about holding onto Midorima’s arm either. “We should get you home,” Midorima suggested.

“You said you live close,” Akashi said, hoping he wasn’t actually talking as loudly as he heard himself be. It was just the buildings around had great acoustics, most likely. “Isn’t it courteous to offer a nightcap and a place to rest my feet before I go back?”

“We didn’t even walk that much,” Midorima said, but he laughed so Akashi felt assured he wasn’t completely out of line. It didn’t feel very subtle of a thing to say in any case. “But if you’re interested in visiting, I guess I don’t have a problem with it.” Midorima lived several blocks away, further than Akashi had anticipated, but the cool night air had given him his second wind and he wasn’t veering off when he walked but he liked how Midorima was supporting him so he allowed it. Midorima’s apartment was minimalistic and felt adequately lived in, though without the usual disarray of some place familiar where one spent much time in. Akashi wondered what Midorima’s desk looked like. As Midorima came up to where Akashi was sitting in the living room with water, Akashi spotted the travel shogi board placed on the shelf.

“Should we play?” Akashi asked, although he was already beginning to set up the board.   


“Sure.” It was dismissive, the tone and voice of someone eager to appease. He was being underestimated. Akashi felt mildly insulted; he was - had been - a businessman of a certain caliber and holding one’s liquor was a necessary skill in the industry. Akashi retaliated by quickly capturing Midorima’s rook.  


“You’re not bad at all,” Midorima said, considering the board.  


Akashi did not quite throw his chin up proudly. Such a haughty display of pride was unbecoming of someone with his name, despite his father being almost criminally arrogant about his own accomplishments. Midorima’s eyes were on his pieces, so the slip would go unnoticed. “I was ranked when I was playing in middle and high school. I was _dan_  when I went to university, and I only really stopped because my father wanted me to work more in depth in his company. Well? Doesn’t that make you take me more seriously?”

Midorima looked up, briefly, over the rim of his glasses. The amusement in his voice had also reached his eyes. “I’ve never once not taken you seriously, Akashi Seijuro.” 

Akashi moved his knight too quickly at his turn and his looser grip made the piece clatter against the board. “I went to the United States for university,” he said, by means of a transition. “They have this theory that there are five languages of love; have you heard of this?” Midorima shook his head, although he was still inspecting the board. This was always a good sign. Shogi was not a game where you beat your opponent by looking at them. “According to this theory, there are five main ways to express and receive love from others. They are gift-giving, words of affirmation, spending time with someone, acts of devotion, and physical intimacy. A few people in my networks took this very seriously and they knew exactly which way they preferred others to love them.”

Midorima moved his turn and did not look up, instead watching Akashi’s hand navigate the board. “Should I ask which language you fall under?”

Akashi laughed, because of the question and that he was winning. “I apparently both prefer giving and receiving physical intimacy. I like to think it’s because my father never hugged me. I never quite understood why Westerners consider that quip to be so amusing, but there you have it.”

“I’m sure your father loved you more than enough,” Midorima said. His plays were becoming more defensive. This was appropriate, because Akashi no longer really felt interested in playing. “I can’t say for sure, but I would guess I am best suited at being devoted. With that,” he said, raising his hands without touching the board, “I resign from this game. It’s your victory. And it’s time to get you home.”  


This was not the direction Akashi intended. “It’s certainly late enough the trains have stopped running.”

“I’ll drive you back; I picked you up so it’s only right.”  


“You were also drinking; you can’t possibly drive at this point.”   


“I only had two glasses of wine with dinner, and it’s been two hours. You were up early today at the shop, weren’t you? I’m surprised you haven’t asked to leave yourself.”  


“I’m tired,” Akashi declared. “I don’t think I would be able to stay awake long enough to get home. I can’t burden you with carting me around when I’m asleep.”  


Midorima sighed. “You’re so willful,” he said, and Akashi let himself be led into the bedroom. He waited until Midorima made a comment about getting comfortable before taking off his clothes to his underwear, but instead of leaping and ravishing him, Midorima carefully tucked him into the bed and started to get up to leave.

“Wait.” His father would be proud of this grip he had around Midorima’s wrist, practiced after years of shaking important people’s hands with the right amount of strength. “Aren’t we...” He thought of how to say it delicately. “...going to have sex now?”  


Midorima looked at him for a painfully long time. “No.”

Akashi let go of him. “We’re not? Haven’t...haven’t I been giving the right signals? That I want to?” He was hard to read, but by god, even Nebuya wouldn’t have misinterpreted his cringingly obvious ploy to stay the night, and Nebuya had been the one to make a comment about how Mibuchi had forgotten everyone else’s chocolate in the shop on Valentine’s. However, in the event that Midorima was not actually physically attracted to him, he was going to demand Midorima drive him home because he was not staying to wallow in embarrassment. Midorima sat back down on the bed.

“No, I think it’s safe to assume you feel the same way as I do - and don’t get me wrong, it isn’t that I don’t want to - but you had a lot to drink and I won’t do anything when you’re intoxicated.”  


Akashi wanted to throw his hands up, but he was composed and his fingers only twitched. “I just played a game of shogi,” he said, “and won.”

“That was impressive, I’ll give you that, but I’m still going to have to say no. It’s late anyway; get some rest. I need to go into the office for a few hours tomorrow, but I have the rest of the day free if you still want to spend time with me. And the offer still would stand tomorrow, I would think?”  


Akashi fell back into the pillow. It was very well designed, with the sleeper’s neck and balance in mind. “Of course it would.”

“I can wait. Good night, I’ll see you in the morning.” Midorima closed the door behind him and Akashi listened for the telltale sign of him spending a little too long in the bathroom, but Midorima did no such thing and after the light turned off from the other side of the door, it seemed that Midorima had really gone to sleep on the couch. So his head still spun a little and he did slur maybe one or two words. He would spite Midorima, Akashi thought. He was going to sleep, and he was going to sleep well. The thought was, admittedly, half-baked.   


Drinking aside, Akashi’s internal clock woke him up around the time his alarm would have. He did not work on Saturdays, but he got up and ran his errands and fielded calls from his father all the same. He felt unjustified in lazing around in someone else’s bed; his mouth was dry anyway, so he needed to get some water. 

Midorima was already awake, though most likely fairly recently because he was still wrapped up in the blanket on the couch checking his emails on his phone. Akashi wordlessly got himself water in the kitchen and padded over to the living room. He should have at least put a shirt on, in retrospect. Midorima shifted on the couch to make room and Akashi sat drinking water for a moment as Midorima continued swiping on his phone. When he put down his phone on the coffee table, Akashi put down his glass. Midorima’s glasses were also on the table, so he probably couldn’t see Akashi’s face, which was really the only reason Akashi leaned closer. Midorima kissing him just happened to be the next reasonable thing to do.

Although Mibuchi clicked his tongue if anyone in the shop open-mouth kissed with blatant disregard to every other customer, Akashi had seen a fair share of shy first dates and disagreements that ended well and support as the pair used their time in the shop to finish something. There was something about being kissed, a raw and unguarded reaction that he could never see himself showing. Some girls giggled and brought their hands up to their face and boys might avert their eyes or pretend unconvincingly that nothing had happened. Sometimes a quick smile sufficed. Nothing instinctual awoke in Akashi and he felt the moment pass, like seeing something from the window as he rode past it. Nothing seemed right and natural to do. He wasn’t even sure why he wanted it, but he just did - for Midorima to just _know_  it was meaningful to him. 

Midorima laughed. “Your face is _so_  red,” he said. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was struck with a need and I listened to it. Midorima is too suave here! Thanks for reading.


End file.
